"Yes, childern," she said, with an air of great complacence, "I've obeyed the prophet o' the Lord. I've had five husbands, an' I've raised ten young uns. Now what I want yer to understan' is that yer Maw an' her childern has got all the 'ligion as they wants. Schoolma'am had better not persume to talk 'ligion to me." She drew herself up as straight as a ramrod, and her lips set firmly.
"But I wanter show her I'm uster entertainin'. I'll give her the silver spoon. An' I do wisht I had a napting to put at her place."
"What's that, Maw?" asked Samuel.
"What's what?"
"Why, what yer want ter put at schoolma'am's plate?"
"Oh, a little towel, like. 'Ristercratic people uses them when they eats. They puts 'em on their laps."
"Won't a dish towel do?"
"Landy! No!"
"Well, we ain't stylish, anyway," said Samuel, philosophically, "an' it's no use to worry."
"Stylish? We're stylish when we wants to be, an' this is one o' them times."